


In It Together

by bmnugent



Category: The 100 (TV), kabby - Fandom
Genre: Dad Kane, F/M, Fluff, Mama Griffin, Modern AU, Romance, Tumblr Prompts, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:22:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmnugent/pseuds/bmnugent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Kabby one-shots I've written for tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Listen

He watches from his spot on their covered front porch as her black Audi Q7 screeches to a standstill in their driveway. The tires spinout against the rain-soaked concrete as she stops her SUV inches away from his Jeep. The engine dies, the windshield wipers stop mid-swipe, and he grins to himself as he watches two tiny, tennis shoe covered feet hit the ground.

The SUV’s door closes and Abby comes into view, running in the pouring rain and seeking out the safety of her covered porch. She’s greeted by her husband’s amused smirk, and looks down to find her light blue scrubs soaking wet and clinging to her body. Her braided hair was slowly coming unwoven.

“Forgot your umbrella again,” he asks from his spot on the cushioned wicker patio furniture. She rolls her eyes, toes off her Nike’s, and collapses onto the cushions next to him. She swings her feet around and they come to rest on his lap. His fingers work out the tension in the arches of her feet, massaging away the soreness of a 16 hour shift.

The hospital ID badge falls from where it’s clasped against her scrub top, swinging idly below her breasts. ‘Abigail Kane, MD - Department Head of Internal Medicine’ is printed in bold, black letters below the staff picture he had teased her about for months.

She folds her hands on top of her stomach, a satisfying smile gracing her face as he continues to massage her tiny feet. The automatic porch lights flicker on behind them and his eyes catch the sparkle her wedding ring gives off in response.

“How was work,” he asks.

“I don’t want to talk about work,” she huffs. “I just want to listen to the rain with my husband.” He smiles. ‘My husband.’


	2. The Way They Touch

It’s an intimate thing, Clarke realizes, the way Marcus Kane touches her mother. She’s never seen anyone, even her own father, be so gentle with Abby. And every time she witnesses it, she feels as if she’s impeding on a special moment.

It doesn’t take much to see that they’re both accustomed to the way they touch each other, so familiar with each other’s habits and movements, that it registers somewhere in their subconscious that they’re actually touching.

He reaches out with a steady hand, claiming the lower spot on the small of her back when he wants her attention.

She grabs a hold of his forearm, her dainty fingers barely able to wrap around his defined muscles when she wants him to focus on her.

His hand quickly covers the rim of her coffee mug in the mornings when she’s too exhausted to realize just how hot the coffee is and her lips always, without fail, collide against his pinky finger as he takes the burn for her.

Her hands come up to frame his face lovingly as she tries her best to hide the smirk growing on her lips upon seeing the wisp of whipped cream that’s managed to nestle in his growing beard. Clarke’s eyes light up with an unyielding love as she watches Marcus rub his beard against her mother’s face, earning a fit of laughter from the older woman. And a cheeky, “Scratchy beard.”

How he reaches out to tuck a piece of her fallen hair behind her ears, and how she has to lean up on her toes to place her hands on his shoulders, and her lips to his.

Clarke only hopes that one day, someone will touch her with as much love as Marcus touches her mother.


	3. Warmth

She’s not just cold, but freezing. The bright sun she had caught a glimpse of from their room had betrayed her. The thin, cotton jacket she swept up from the back of Marcus’s chair provides no protection against the harsh weather that stretches on for miles. She regrets her decision immediately upon stepping out onto the camp ground, but hopefully her mission for more boiling water for medical will only take a few minutes.

White puffs of steam rise from her lips and she’s shivering by the time she reaches her target. There are numerous, small fires scattered throughout the grounds for various purposes; some for cooking and others for solely warmth.

Her teeth chatter together as she calls out his name.

He’s covered heavily in a thick, black sweater with numerous layers of clothing underneath. The straps of his guard equipment keep the sweater close to his body. On top of it all, he wears a heavy jacket that’s been helping maintain a stable body temperature while he tends to one of the fires needed for his people.

Turning around and seeing her in nothing more than a gray shaw, how her lips are pale, and the way her arms are crossed over her chest to keep whatever body heat she has left, he frowns.

“Abby, what are you doing out here,” he asks while slipping his arms out from his leather jacket. “You need to get back inside,” he says before throwing the jacket over her shoulders, wrapping her in the warm confines of his clothing. It’s too big for her, but he figures she won’t complain. She shivers again, but this time in pleasure, as the warmth spreads across her torso. She doesn’t slip her arms through the jacket, but instead, slowly moves closer to him.

A time not too long before this, she would have been satisfied with just his jacket. But everyone in camp already knows about their relationship or doesn’t care either way.

Her arms slip around him as she seeks out more of his body heat and her shivering stops when her chest meets his firm side. She marvels at how perfectly she fits here, against his side, and suddenly the harsh winter is her favorite season. Her hands are locked together, resting on his hip, and she stands there with her arms around him.

“You’re going to get sick,” he states as he wraps one of his arms around her, holding her close against him while he manages to tend the fire with his free arm.

“Well that’s why you’re going to keep me warm while I’m out here,” she says above the crackling and popping of the fire in front of them. It’s hard to fight the grin that’s forming on his lips, and he pulls her to stand in front of him. Her back is pressed against his chest, his arms snake around either side of her, and she lays her hands on top of his, which are clasped together over a heavy stick he’s been using to poke the fire.

There’s no better feeling in the world than being in his arms. The fire in front of them is an added bonus, she thinks.

“You shouldn’t even be out here,” he whispers as her head falls back against his chest, her eyes closing at the feel of the burning fire in front of her and Marcus’s firm chest behind her.

“Medical needed more clean water,” she explains. “Jackson is already coming down with something. I don’t need him out here when I’m perfectly capable of getting it myself.” She can’t see it, but he’s smiling behind her, his stretched lips brushing against her pony-tail.

He hates to do it… dreads it, actually, but he slowly pushes her away from his body and back towards the safety of the Ark. She’s fighting him, letting her head fall to the side and she pouts.

“Just a few more minutes.”

“I’ll bring you the water.” He’s quick about the kiss he presses to her lips. “Now go.” She huffs in frustration, more white steam rising from her breath, and he watches with a smirk as she waddles in his over-sized jacket, back inside the walls of their home.


	4. Just Wanna Dance With You

She’s cleaning up the rest of her mess in Medical when he comes to her, two metal cups filled with blueberry moonshine. Even through the muffled music blaring outside, she can hear his footsteps grow closer as she disinfects the lasts of her tools.

“You do know there’s a celebration in full rage outside this very moment?”

“I’m well aware,” she rolls her eyes, then saves the last of her scalpels in the designated box. When she turns around, he’s close behind her, leaving her no choice but to lean against the metal counter. “Not you too,” she groans and he hands her one of the cups.

“Just taste it,” he pleads.

“A taste is probably all it’ll take.” She brings the cup up to her nose, gets a whiff of the potent alcohol, and gives in. It’s sweet, bearable, and she licks her lips after pulling the cup away from her mouth. “Wow.”

“Now,” he holds out his arm and she looks up at him with the mischievous smile he loves so much. “We’ve got a party to attend,” he says as she links her arm through his. 

They walk through the deserted halls of the Ark together and she continues to sip at the sweet blueberry liquor. When they grow closer to the camp grounds, the music becomes clearer and the bonfire Bellamy and Wick have started is in full force.

The raid in Mount Weather hadn’t gone to waste, Abby notes as she takes in the use of speakers and music. Her eyes flutter over the groups of campers; Octavia and Bellamy are dancing together while Lincoln watches proudly, Raven and Wick are sitting near the fire with their own personal bottle of moonshine between them, Monty and Jasper are hanging around the make-shift bar they’ve constructed, and Clarke is laying back in a temporary hammock that Lexa has made out of old pieces of visqueen from the Ark wreckage.

Abby isn’t a heavy drinker and she doesn’t weigh enough to put down alcohol like some of the other camp residents, so by the time she gets halfway through her drink, she can feel the effects of the alcohol in her cheeks. She convinces herself it’s her close proximity to the fire, but her cheeks are the only part of her that feel warm, she realizes.

Their relationship is still new, but it doesn’t stop her from letting her hand fall high on his thigh, from her leaning into his side as he talks, or from shooting flirtatious grins his way as she sips on the dangerously good alcohol.

“Well this was certainly easy,” he comments, keeping his eyes trained on the fire in front of him. She giggles and leans into him even more.

“What,” she says through her laughter.

“Getting you out here,” he answers her. “To have fun,” he finishes off what’s left of the moonshine in his cup.

“I have fun all the time,” she drunkingly defends. He crosses his arms over his chest, encouraging her to elaborate.

But there’s a new song that float through the camp; some people continue to dance, despite the change in genre, and some take a break, falling against the many logs pushed up around the fire.

“Prove it,” Marcus challenges her, holding out his hand for her to take. Clarke is watching the entire exchange, not far behind the couple, and yells out.

“Come on, mom! Show him how it’s done!”

Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth as a cocky grin appears on her face, accepting his challenge. She slaps her hand into his, refusing to set down her cup of alcohol, and he lifts her from the ground.

It’s not long before he’s dragging her out onto the dirt dance floor, twirling her around with one hand and catching her as she spins around once. They shuffle around expertly, like they’ve done this dance a million times over. And when she attempts to get a sip of her alcohol, spilling down her chin in the process, she throws her head back in laughter.

Octavia swoops in last minute with the help of her new dance partner, Lincoln, who’s leading her around the dance floor. She snatches the cup out from Abby’s hand, downing the rest of the moonshine and tossing the cup back; it landing perfectly in Raven’s lap.

This isn’t the type of music they’re used to, the kids anyway, but it’s not bad… so Monty and Jasper let it slide when they see how much the older couple enjoy it.

He smiles down at her as he continues to lead her through the two-step; one of her hands on his shoulder while the other rests in his own hand, their fingers lacing together. She’s hanging onto him, staring up at him in wonder they move together perfectly. Too occupied with each other, they don’t notice how all the other couples have left the dance floor, leaving only Abby and Marcus.

“You gonna tell me where you learned to dance like this,” he says into her ear before twirling her away from him and letting go of her hand so she can roll her hips, her arms carelessly lifted above her head as she side-steps closer to him. At her solo dancing, the younger crowd whistles and yells, and Marcus claps his hands jokingly by the side of his head, earning laughter from the kids.

She reaches out for his hand, and he pulls her back into their two-step dance gracefully. But before long, the song is coming to an end. When they slow to a stop, the camp is quiet enough to hear the wildlife off in the forest as the next song loads through the speakers.

There’s a roar of cheering and clapping after their dance. More color returns to Abby’s cheeks, but this time from the slight embarrassment. She grabs his arm and ducks away from the invading crowd that’s taking over the dance floor now.

He ceases to follow her and she jerks to a stop. He takes the opportunity to pull her around, back into his arms, once their away from curious eyes.

“Nice dancing out there, Chancellor,” he says with mocking eyes.

“Shut up, Marcus,” she says through her bright, loving smile.


	5. Hold Still

“Would you stop squirming,” she mutters under her breath, blowing a piece of her bangs that have fallen into her eyes as she concentrates on her work. Heart surgery is more complicated than this, she thinks to herself. “You’re worse than Clarke when she had her first haircut,” she teases him, thinking back to the way her four year old daughter had kicked and squirmed the entire time Abby had cut her hair. She’s able to get back to planning out which pieces she needs to cut, but as she lowers the scissors, he moves again. “Marcus,” she fusses.

She’s standing in the small confines of his lavatory, between his parted legs, as he sits in the metal chair she’s dragged into the bathroom. Her hands are hovering above his untamed hair, one hand holding a pair of sharp scissors she’s borrowed from medical while the other holds his head back.

The mirror in his bathroom is cracked from the impact of the crash three years ago, so there’s no way of seeing what she’s doing, and he refuses to admit to her that this haircut is ever so slightly important to him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, trying his best to calm his twitching hands and the way his head turns tilts back to look up at her. “I just… I want you to take your time, but there’s more important things I should be doing right now,” he says aloud.

“Are you kidding me? This was your idea!”

“Okay, okay. Just do it,” he says in a hurried voice, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“You have to hold still,” she reminds him, her fingers pushing through his thick hair, grasping a handful of it at the back of his head and pulling his face back so he can see her face. “I don’t want to have to reattach an ear today. Understand?” Her grip hurts, only a little bit, and his lips curl upwards in a smirk when she lowers her face inches away from his. “I might even reward you with a kiss when I’m done.” She lets go of his hair and gets back to work, meticulously picking out which pieces of his hair have grown the longest and carefully trimming away the dark brown locks.

He can’t help but watch her as she works. He smiles to himself when she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and he appreciates the way she gently combs her fingers through his hair. She’ll never admit it, at least not now, but she loves how long and disheveled his hair has grown over the past couple of years.

It’s a steady reminder of the man he’s become on the ground; the man she fell in love with.

She’s walking away from in between his thighs and he almost pouts at the loss of contact, but her hands are suddenly pushing through his hair at the nape of his neck and he can feel the cool metal of the scissors against his heated skin.

“Almost done,” he’s asking and for a moment, she stops cutting.

“Next time you need a haircut, don’t come crying to me when your list of things to do around camp is longer than Raven’s Christmas list,” she snaps playfully at him, cutting off a few more pieces of hair before returning to her previous spot between his legs.

She sweeps her hands over his shoulders, brushing off the loose pieces of hair away from his clothes and onto the floor of his bathroom. She hasn’t taken much off, but it’s neater, and feels lighter. He hears the scissors click against the counter.

“There. Finished,” she says as her hands come to rest on her hips, proudly overlooking her work. He’s frowning though, and for a split second, she thinks he either hates it or that she’s done something terribly wrong. “What?”

“I didn’t get a kiss for staying still.” She quickly rolls her eyes as his hands come out to grab her waist. He pulls her down simultaneously as she leans over his, her own hands pressing against the flat of his thighs for support.

Their lips meet in a sweet, brief kiss and she pulls away sooner than he’d like. Before she can step out from between his thighs, he grabs ahold of both of her wrists and pulls her forward with such force, she falls into his lap. His hand flies to the back of her head as he keeps her steady against him for a better kiss. She smiles against his lips, her hand sliding up his chest, up his neck, against his beard, and through his freshly cut hair.

There’s a hurried knock on his door, and before they know it, Bellamy is rushing into his room without a second notice.

“Kane, we need you at the-“ He stops halfway through the room when he catches a glimpse of the Chancellor straddling Marcus’s lap.

“She… I-,” Marcus stumbles with his words as color floods his face.

“I’m in the middle of a haircut, Bellamy,” Abby loudly explains, her lips still swollen from Marcus’s kiss. “He’ll meet you outside.” She can hear footsteps, then the sound of the door softly clicking shut. She pushes off of him without missing a beat, extends her hand, and pulls him up from the chair. “Duty calls,” she mocks, pushing him out from the bathroom and further into the room for him to go meet the oldest Blake sibling.

The door opens, Marcus greets an embarrassed Bellamy, and Abby can hear the younger man ask with a smirk.

“Think she’d cut my hair too?”

 “In your dreams, Blake,” she hears Marcus say.


	6. His Daughter

He’s laying on his stomach in the middle of his daughter’s room, a magazine full of Jeeps opened in front of him. His four month old daughter is between his elbows, watching in wonder as her father flips the pages of the colorful magazine.

“Which one should daddy get,” he asks, pointing to the vehicles on printed on the glossy pages. Catherine’s tiny hands are keeping her pushed up and level with her father, but she loses her balance when she extends one tiny hand to plop down on one, brightly colored Jeep. “That one?” He ducks his head to look at the price tag under his daughter’s hand. “Mommy will make me sleep on the couch for a year if I come home with that thing,” he says finally. “Pick another one.”

She turns her head, her thick brunette hair had been pushed back and held in place with a pink headband placed there by Abby earlier this morning. Her warm brown eyes seek out her father, who ducks his head again and smiles brightly at her, earning him an adorably grin from his infant daughter.

—

He’s outside in the backyard, muscles twitching under the sheer pain of planking for the past minute straight. But the fact that his daughter his laying flat against his back, her tiny arms coming to wrap around his chest, is the motivation he needs to hold his position even longer.

He lets out a shaky breath and Catherine giggles.

“You think this is funny,” he asks playfully and he can feel her drool from her continuous laughter seep through his tight gray shirt. He gives up on the planks and slowly lowers himself to the ground. Catherine gently rolls off from his back and he catches her effortlessly.

He’s on his back all while holding her up, her back resting against his thighs as he starts his round of sit ups.

With every rep, he makes a silly face at her and she screams in laughter.

—

The hike up the trail hadn’t taken long. Abby follows behind the father-daughter duo, watching with a warm heart how her husband stops and lifts their daughter up to reach flowers, honey suckles, blackberries… anything the little girl set her heart on having.

There’s a clearing up ahead and when they finally reach their destination, Marcus shrugs off his backpack, grabs his daughter by the arms, and lifts her up onto his shoulders. Her tiny pink hoodie clashes with his navy blue.

Catherine fits perfectly on her father’s shoulders; doesn’t cry or scream to be put down, because she trusts him completely.

They’re standing near the edge of the clearing, mountains, clouds, and trees visible for miles. There’s a cold gust of wind that pushes through the clearing and Abby can see a few wisps of her daughter’s dark brunette hair fly out from the side of the pink hood.

And before long, Catherine’s hands are reaching down for her father’s. She pulls them up until he’s got his arms stretched out on either side, and she lets go of his hands, copying his stance. Both Kanes have their arms stretched out, presenting themselves freely to the beautiful mountains in front of him.

—

She finds her mother’s stethoscope early one morning as she waddles into their bedroom. The tubing hangs around her neck and the earpieces nearly touch the floor as she copies the way her mother wears it before she leaves for work.

It’s Sunday morning and both of her parents are still snuggled in bed.

Climbing onto the mattress, her tiny frame makes a slight dip in the bed when she crawls across the covers to rest between her parents. Marcus is the first one to wake up, his eyes slowly adjusting to the bright sunlight pouring in from the window besides him.

“Good morning, Doctor Kane,” he greets his daughter.

“Morning, daddy,” she says before pushing off from his chest to sit upright in the bed.

Abby is next to wake up at her daughter’s voice and rolls over to find her daughter struggling with the earpieces of her stethoscope.

 “Here, baby… like this,” she says with a voice still full of sleep, reaching out to help her daughter put both earpieces in each ear. “Now.” She takes the diaphragm from her daughter and places it on her husband’s chest so Catherine can hear her daddy’s heart beat.

It takes a few seconds for the little girl to realize what she’s listening to, but when she does, her eyes light up and her hand comes out to slap lightly against her father’s chest.

“Daddy,” she exclaims.

—

“Clarke!”

“Princess!”

Abby watches from her spot, stretched out on one of the many sunbathing loungers, as her two daughters run towards one another. Her eldest daughter has just come home for the summer.

Clarke has to bend at the waist to wrap her arms around her little sister, then stands tall and lifts her in the air.

The clash of blonde and brunette hair makes Abby’s heart soar with love that the two girls, from different fathers, were completely infatuated with one another. Catherine’s legs are wrapped around Clarke, who holds up her younger sister with her arms hooked under Catherine’s thighs.

Clarke sets her little sister down on the tiled patio when she grows closer to her mother. The older women exchange hugs and kisses before Clarke turns and heads for where Marcus is standing in the pool. He meets her at the edge and she bends over to press a kiss to his cheek. He’s quick about the way his hand comes out of the water, wraps around Clarke’s wrist, and pulls her into the water.

Catherine laughs and Abby shrieks, trying to dodge the splash of water.

“Your turn, squirt!” Marcus calls out to his younger daughter, who nervously steps up to the edge of the pool.

“You’re gonna pull me in,” she says with a bit of fear behind her voice.

“I won’t, sweetheart. I promise.” He’s holding out his arms, poised to catch his daughter at any moment. It doesn’t take any more convincing before Catherine pushes herself off from the edge of the pool and jumps into her father’s arms.

He catches her effortlessly and she smiles brightly when he’s upheld his promise.

“Good job, squirt,” he says before pressing a kiss to the top of his daughter’s head. “Mommy’s turn?”

“Mommy’s turn,” she yells in agreement. Clarke reaches out, offering to take her sister into her arms, so Marcus can climb out of the pool and stalk closer to his wife.

“Yeah, mom’s turn,” Clarke says with a toothy grin.

“Marcus Kane, don’t you lay a wet finger on me,” she complains, slowly lifting herself from the sunbathing chair and putting space between herself and her husband.

“The girls want you in the pool.”

She makes one wrong move and he’s suddenly sweeping her up into his arms.


	7. Dinner

The first time Abby Griffin has the pleasure of meeting Marcus Kane is when his female partner is stretched out before her on a gurney, blood spewing from every tear and bullet wound visible. 

She had directed Jackson to keep the hot-headed FBI agent in the waiting area, but the scrawny physician’s assistant was no match for Marcus. He had pushed through the heavy, fire-resistant doors that led to the operating rooms of the hospital, all while keeping his eyes locked on Abby.

“You’re not working fast enough!” She can’t waste time paying him any mind, so she focuses on the only thing she knows in this moment: keep her patient alive. 

There’s a team of nurses working with her; one is starting an IV and hanging fluids, another is applying pressure to the deepest of gunshot wounds, and another is calmly talking into the wireless hospital phone, requesting for an OR to be cleared and sterilized immediately.

He’s keeping up in stride with them, pushing his way past the numerous nurses to get to Abby, who still hasn’t taken her eyes off of Indra to pay him any attention. His eyes dart back and forth between the blood, the latex-gloved hands applying pressure to his partner’s chest, the bags of normal saline being hung.

“I thought I told you to stay in the waiting room.” She finally gets a chance to take her eyes off of Indra and lets them focus on Marcus’s frantic face. For a moment, she almost feels guilty that he’s here witnessing this, but if he just would have listened.

“No. You left that to your sorry excuse for a PA,” he says with anger laced in his voice.

Abby stops walking upon coming to another set of heavy, metal doors. She lets her team continue to roll down the hallway with her patient and Marcus nearly crashes into her, trying to follow the nurses who are pulling Indra’s stretcher into an operating room.

“What are you doing,” he asks with wild eyes and a raised voice, stretching his arm out to push the doors back open. She stands her ground and blocks him from the doors.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the doctor here,” she coldly reminds him. Her words cause something in him to snap and his hands come up momentarily, as if he wants to strangle her.

“Then ACT like one,” he shouts, balling his fists up and letting them fall back down to his sides, spinning on his heels and retreating back to the waiting area. He leaves in too much of a hurry to witness the way her eyes narrow with fury.

–

The surgery takes longer than expected, but Indra is stable and recovering well. The transport team has taken her from the PACU to the medical-surgical floor where she’ll remain for the rest of her stay. And when one of the nurses comes out to tell Marcus she’s in room 424, he’s jumping up from his seat and hurrying towards the elevators.

He finds the room with ease, but when he steps into it, there’s a familiar brunette still dressed in bloody scrubs assessing the vital sign monitor. She doesn’t hear him come in, doesn’t notice the squeak his boots make on the linoleum floor.

“How’d she do,” he asks after a few moments, his pleading eyes trained on the back of Abby’s head.

“She did fine.” It’s all she says to him as she writes down blood pressures, heart rates, temperatures. She turns to leave the room after she has everything she needs, but Marcus’s hand comes out to grab her shoulder.

The touch startles Abby and she jumps, but doesn’t attempt to withdraw.

“You saved her life,” he states, eyes heavy with guilt. “Thank you.” It’s hard to meet his eyes still, even with the apologetic look he’s trying to give her. His hand falls slowly from her shoulder.

She swallows hard, nods her head once, and walks out from the door.

He can’t help but watch as she leaves.

—

A week later, the woman who’s life she saved is discharged from the hospital. She’s signing off on the discharge papers when there’s a knock on her office door.

“Come in,” she calls out blindly, signing her name in all the required spots. “Jackson, if this is about the on-call schedule, it’ll have to-“

Her words stop short when she catches glimpse of dark colored clothing from the corner of her eye.

Marcus Kane stands awkwardly in front of her, with a bouquet of bright flowers in his hand. She’s at a loss for words, unsure of whether to be furious with the pushy stranger or grateful that he’s come baring gifts.

“I… wanted to apologize for the way I acted.” She knows he’s talking about the blowup he had in the hallway the day Indra nearly died. “These are for you,” he says after a moment, as if forgetting he was holding the flowers at all. He sets them down her desk and steps back to get a glimpse of the whole picture.

She bites her lip, only for a second, as her eyes take in the vibrant colors of the flowers.

“Apology accepted,” she says after a torturous period of silence. She stands from her desk after collecting the papers and moves to push past him. 

“Let me make it up to you,” he says quickly, turning to follow her out from her office.

“That’s not necessary,” she says as she locks up her office. “The flowers were more than enough.”

“Those are nothing,” he presses on. “Let me take you out to dinner; show you I’m not a complete asshole,” he begs, following her around the hallways until they end up in front of Indra’s room. She wants to roll her eyes. Of course this man cares about wanting to fix his reputation.

“I’m busy,” she shoots him down.

“I didn’t even give you a date,” he says defensively, picking up on her inclination to get away from him. She doesn’t respond, but grabs a hold of the doorknob. His hand comes out, pressing against the metal frame, and his arm blocks the entrance to the door. “I won’t stop until you agree. It’s one dinner. That’s all I’m asking for.”

—

The next day, she comes into work with a tired walk and a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. She greets her nurses, grabs her stack of mail, and heads to her office. She flicks on the light and there’s a small card folded over in the middle of her desk.

The rest of her mail forgotten, she opens the card and reads over the hand-written message.

‘Have dinner with me tonight. - M’  
—

She’s struggling with her purse, trying to fish her keys out from the sea of lose change, sunglasses, a wallet, and other personal items, when her cell phone starts to ring her in scrub pocket.

She unlocks the phone and answers the call without giving a second look to the unknown number displayed on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Abby?”

“Who is this,” she says with narrowed eyes at the familiar voice. “How’d you get this number?”

“You’re asking an FBI agent how he managed to get a phone number?”

“What do you want?” Her voice is flat and uninterested now.

“Would you accompany me to dinner tonight?”

“No,” she says bluntly and hangs up the phone.

She looks up at her reflection in the mirror hanging up in the foyer and suddenly frowns when she catches herself smiling.

—

He’s standing by the nurses station with a cup of coffee in one hand and a bag of donut holes in the other, looking adorable as ever, she notes mentally. She tilts her head to the side upon spotting him and licks her lips in anticipation to refuse his dinner proposal.

“Good morning, Doctor Griffin,” he greets her with a smile.

“Marcus,” she says, not stopping make small talk with him. She’s shedding her rain coat and swapping it out for her white hospital coat as he silently follows her into the office, still holding onto the coffee and donuts.

“Gave my dinner invitation any thought?”

“I did, actually,” she says in a surprising manner, which perks him up.

“And?”

“It’s still no,” she says with an wry smile. “Are those for me?” She plucks both the coffee and white paper bag from his hands, sipping on the sweet liquid before leaving him in her office dumbfounded.

—

“Code Orange in effect. All available personnel report to ED. Code Orange in effect. All available personnel report to ED.”

There’s a kick of adrenaline that surges through her body as she lets her pen fall to her desk. She speeds to a jog, not wanting to alert by-passing visitors or patients, as she ties her hair back into a ponytail and rounds the corner of the emergency room.

Multiple doctors, surgeons, and nurses are filling the room, awaiting the wave of wounded patients. The exam and triage rooms are being cleared out, stretchers and supplies are being stacked out side of the rooms, the technicians are sanitizing every surface they can get their hands on, and when Abby spots the flashing red lights coming around the corner, she’s one of the first doctors to run outside.

There’s a technician handing out protective barrier gowns and gloves, but Abby bypasses the young worker, and heads straight for one of the various ambulances pulling into the emergency room bay.

The back doors swing open and the EMTs jump out with patients who seem too stable for her help.

She needs someone on the verge of death.

She turns her head, surveying the scene, when she catches sight of a familiar face. Confused, she rushes over to Marcus Kane who climbs out from the back of an ambulance with shaky legs.

“Marcus,” she asks in a craze. “What happened? Are you okay?” He waves her off, stumbling to the ground as his legs give out on him. Her eyes grow wide, her heart throbs achingly, and she falls to her knees in time with him.

“Dinner,” he asks with struggled breaths, his eyes fluttering shut.

Her fingers find his carotid, but there’s no pulse and his chest isn’t rising. 

“Marcus!” She’s shaking him, trying to stir him awake, but he remains motionless on the ground. “I need help over here,” she shouts at the top of her lungs, and some of her colleagues stop when they recognize the hysteria in her voice.

The heel of her right hand finds it’s way to the lower half of his breast-bone, her other hand coming to rest on top of it. Her fingers lace together and she starts the compressions as fast and hard as she can manage, counting along in her head.

When she reaches thirty, she tilts his head back, opens his mouth, and gives him two breaths. Her eyes have been closed all the while, but she opens them to see if his chest is rising efficiently with the breaths she’s giving him.

She doesn’t notice how blurry her vision is from the tears that cloud her eyes. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she snaps back into a hunched position over him, continuing the compressions, when her tears slip off her cheeks and onto his face.

 “Damnit, Marcus.”

There’s a team of technicians that stop next to her with a stretcher. They have to push her away in order to lift him up. She wastes no time climbing on top of his lifeless body, straddling his waist and continuing the compressions as she yells to wheel them to an OR.

“Come on,” she begs with a harsh, breathless voice. She reaches thirty compressions and leans over him, pressing her lips to his and blowing two breaths into his lungs.

—

Her arms ache with a constant reminder of how she kept his heart beating for the fifteen minutes it took to get him into an OR. She ignores the pain as she looks over his labs. She’s drawn up a chair next to his bed and lets the beeping of the heart monitor calm her anxiety.

There’s a cough, a twitch in the bed in front of her, and she’s suddenly on her feet. Her hands grip the railings of the hospital bed as she leans over him, watching for any signs that he’ll open his eyes.

And when he does, she lets out a breath she never knew she was holding in.

“Hey,” she says with a soft, broken voice. It takes him a moment to come to, to realize where he is and who it is that’s leaning over him, but when he does, he reaches out with a shaky hand to tuck back the pieces of hair that have fallen in her face.

“Dinner,” he asks with a weak voice.

The tension in her shoulders give out, she slumps over the bed in a fit of laughter at the irony of it all, and finally nods her head. He offers up a small smile, despite the pain he’s in.


End file.
